


Tell Tale

by thawrecka



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-10-29
Updated: 2003-10-29
Packaged: 2017-11-20 04:06:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/581126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thawrecka/pseuds/thawrecka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The summer after. A dream. Clocks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell Tale

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much to ruedifference for the beta. Also, I've used an unholy mixture of OotP canon with movie canon, pretty much.

Harry dreamt of clocks. They tick - tick - ticked in his subconscious. All along an endless grey corridor they covered the walls, long ones, thin ones, large, round ones. Grandfather clocks, pocket watches, all ticking in tandem. The sharp ticks and loud gongs thrummed inside his head with each breath he took. The ticking increased in noise and intensity with each step until he felt as if they were pounding against the bones of his skull.

The scene melted and he dreamt of other things too.

He dreamt he kissed Hermione as blood rained down from above. The blood was everywhere, falling on them from open giant flesh. There was so much blood he didn't notice when it started pouring out of the large gaping wound in her chest.

He dreamt of hitting Malfoy, hitting and hitting until Draco's skin broke. He threw the awful blond boy to the ground, sat on him and wrapped his hands around the pale and tender throat. He squeezed and squeezed until Malfoy gasped, moaned and arched.

He dreamt of Ron's hysterical laughter as blood dribbled out of his mouth, redder even than his hair. Ron laughed softly as he slowly removed his clothes then harder as he was hit with the entrail-expelling curse and burst like a sausage. The laughter carried on, disembodied, as Ron's form crumbled and splattered all over the floor.

He dreamt of Ginny with every bone in her body broken and her eyes open wide.

He dreamt of Sirius and Cedric and his parents and each new victim of Voldemort. It swirled around in his head, dancing and laughing and ticking.

He woke with a headache and looked at the silent display of his digital clock.

 

Neville wrote letters to Harry and Hermione now. He didn't put anything much important in them. He told them how his gran reacted to breaking his dad's wand (better than I expected), how he was doing on his holiday homework (as bad as I expected) and said he hoped they were well.

Sometimes if he got really bored he'd write them what he had for breakfast or how his cactus was doing.

He wrote the letters in an untidy scrawl, sealed them up, then borrowed gran's owl to send them away.

Afterwards he said goodnight to gran and meandered back to his room.

He stroked his Mimbulus Mimbletonia and it cooed back at him. He made sure Trevor was fed and safe. The he put on his pyjamas and slipped into bed. He fell asleep thinking of sticking a wand into a death eater's eye, and smiling.

 

Harry woke up before the sun with a burning head and a scream dying in his throat.

He stumbled down the stairs, breathing harshly. When he got to the kitchen Aunt Petunia exited immediately, without once looking him in the eye. He got a glass of water then sat at the table and drank, trying to be numb.

Later when he had dressed and eaten, an owl arrived bearing a letter. He read it over, strangely comforted by Neville's meaningless rambles. He tried to think of a good response.

He went to Mrs Figg's house where Lupin was on watch. The man was pale and tired and his eyes were red-rimmed. He greeted Harry with a broken smile and Harry said hello in a cracking voice. They exchanged meaningless words about the weather and the war and neither said, "How are you?"

Mrs Figg fed him stale cookies and bland tea.

Harry went back to his house before sun set.

He sat down and wrote to Neville about how Mrs Figg's house smelt heavily of cat and the program he watched on TV the night before, followed by a detailed explanation of what TV is. He gave Hedwig a biscuit and stroked her lovely feathers before sending her off to deliver the letter to Neville Longbottom.

 

When his gran picked him up at the station she helped carry his bag while he carried Trevor and the plant. They got into the car without pomp or ceremony. Neville's belongings went in the back and Trevor and the plant went in his lap.

When they were safely buckled in and his gran had pulled the car out onto the road, she spoke, "I received a letter from Professor Dumbledore, telling me of your unplanned excursion to the Department of Mysteries with your friends, Neville," she began.

"Yes," Neville said, wary. "I, um, broke my wand. Dolohov kicked me in the head and it was in the way."

"Then we'll just have to buy you a new one."

Neville looked at his gran. She was smiling.

"Apparently you were very brave. You stuck by your friends and did well in the face of adversity. I'm proud of you, Neville. You're more like your father than I thought."

Neville smiled wide and recounted his adventure for his gran the rest of the way home.

They went in to buy his new wand soon after that. They made an excursion of it, and his gran bought him some chocolate frogs.

At dinner that night he asked her to tell him about his parents during the last war.

When he got the results of his OWLs she was most impressed by his mark in DADA and took him out to a fancy dinner.

 

When Harry got back to the Dursleys' he wanted to fall in to bed and sleep forever. His relatives let him move about in silence and he dragged his things into his room with a heavy heart.

He put everything away and took off his shoes then slumped against the bed, still in his clothes. His glasses dug into his face so he took them off and put them on the bedside cabinet. He was too long for the mattress so his feet fell over the end, cold.

He felt frozen through and pulled the covers over himself when the shivering grew too much. It didn't help that he felt like his bones were going to bang too hard against each other and break.

His face felt like it had been rubbed in acid and every time he wiped his face the skin around his eyes felt paper-thin.

Not long after he realised he was sobbing he fell asleep.

Mundungus Fletcher turned up to watch him, once, smelling like a brewery. The next day Harry wandered up to Mrs Figg's house and overheard the man crying, "Figgy, he took me off active duty."

"For God's sake, pull yourself together, Mundungus," she said.

Tonks was clumsier than ever and whenever she broke something she'd spend five minutes apologising and trying not to cry.

He took to going over Mrs Figg's place all the time to check who was on watch.

She had a clock on the wall with a cat's face that ticked relentlessly in the background. Harry thought it was awful, but at least it was better than Umbridge's kitten plates.

 

Neville retrieved the letter from his owl in the morning. She flapped away immediately and Neville sat down to read it at the breakfast table. He smiled as he read about Mr Tibbles and television.

"Do put that letter away, Neville," his gran said.

"But it's a letter from Harry, gran," he protested.

"You can read it _after_ breakfast," she said.

Neville stuffed the letter in his pocket and contritely ate his breakfast.

Later, he leaned back against his bed and took out the letter. He smiled at Harry's messy writing and the odd clumsy turn of phrase.

Neville liked things that were a bit off or odd or untidy. He liked his mother's pallid face and the plant he knew everyone else thought ugly. He liked his gran's vulture hat and Hermione's crazy cat.

He liked the way Harry's face looked flushed with anger and his eyes wild with grief. He liked the jagged scar on Harry's forehead and the new squiggly white lines of scar on Harry's dominant hand.

Sometimes when he though of Harry's imperfections his hand drifted down his body. He thought of the way Harry squinted without his glasses and the way Harry sounded when he was yelling and the way he looked pale and twisted in his sheets. Then Neville didn't think much at all for a minute.

He put the letter from Harry in the same drawer as all the empty lolly wrappers from his mother.

 

Harry woke to the insistent beeping of his alarm clock. He slammed it off with a heavy hand. Before he woke he'd been dreaming about, well, he didn't want to think about it and would be quite happy to forget it. Suffice it to say the dream had started with stroking the side of Neville's pudgy face to hear him croon like his cactus-looking thingy and only got weirder from there.

Harry wiped the sleep from his eyes and put on his glasses. He forced himself out of his covers and stepped out of bed. He dressed himself, absent-minded. He flinched when he saw the bony creature in the mirror, dark circles under its eyes, but felt like a right fool when he realised that it was only his reflection.

The Weasleys came to fetch him bright and early. Mrs Weasley smothered him in hugs and Mr Weasley smiled at him sadly. Harry sat next to Ron and looked down at his feet.

Harry asked how Ron was and Ron said, "Fine. How are you?"

"Fine," Harry lied, and for the rest of the drive he was quiet and still.

Ginny greeted him when he got there and caught him up on all the gossip. Harry laughed in the right places. Part way through he looked up and realised Mrs Weasley had added another hand to her clock - one with his face.

That night he sent a letter to Neville detailing the latest fight between Bill and Mrs Weasley about the length of his hair.

 

Neville read through the letter quickly. He couldn't think what to say in reply, so he put the letter under a paperweight so he could came back to it later.

His gran came to collect him in the afternoon and they set off to St. Mungos. She was wearing her best green dress and he wore clean, pressed black.

The hospital was relatively free of people, not too loud. The healer led them into the Janus Thickey ward with a smile.

For once it was clean and bright. His parents had beds just next to the window and the curtain was pulled back, casting light over his mother's papery hair and watery eyes. Neville smoothed the fine hair back from her head and tucked it behind her ear and she smiled gracelessly around shrivelled gums. Neville smiled back.

"Oh, Frank, dear, you'd never guess what happened to Neville this school year. He took care of himself quite well, didn't you, Neville? Frank, Alice, you'd be so proud of him. He's more like you than I thought," his gran said.

Neville smiled, thinking he wasn't really like his parents much at all.

"Go on, dear, tell them all about it," his gran encouraged.

"Well, my friend Harry had a dream and..." Neville explained. When he finished he showed his mum the badge from the ministry saying 'Neville Longbottom, Rescue Mission'. She gave him a lolly wrapper for his efforts.

That night he had nightmares about the death room and woke up expecting to find Bellatrix Lestrange standing over him.

 

The headline of the Daily Prophet said MALFOY ESCAPES CUSTODY and the article below that read JUNIOR OFFICIAL FROM MINISTRY GOES MISSING.

The letters to the editor were filled with paranoid ramblings (never paranoid enough) and hysterical demands for information.

Harry ate up this information instead of breakfast and ignored Mrs Weasley's attempts to give him tea.

 

Neville implored his gran to help him figure out what to get Harry for his birthday.

"I want to give him something special and I don't really know what he likes that he hasn't already got," he said.

She nodded grimly and took him to a nice, out-of-the-way shop.

 

Harry's birthday came just like the others before it.

The Weasleys gave him multicoloured knitted gloves. He smiled and thanked them.

Hermione gave him a book of poems. He gave her a big squishy hug when he thanked her.

Luna Lovegood sent him an article on Nifflers.

Lupin came around lunchtime, even more faded and grey than the last time Harry had seen him. He handed Harry a plain looking card and said, "Here you go, Harry," with a smile that looked like it hurt. Harry ignored the sting in his eyes.

A present from Neville came a day late with a card saying, "Happy belated birthday."

Harry ripped open the packaging to find a small square clock in a tortoiseshell case. It had large roman numerals around the face and the words 'Tempus Fugit' printed clearly in Times New Roman font. The accompanying note said it was bewitched to tick as long as the owner lived.

Harry brought it to his ear and it ticked loudly.

When the results of his OWLs came in Harry wasn't as disappointed with his poor performance in everything but DADA as he should have been. After all, he didn't think his future would be long enough for it to matter.

 

Neville had spent most of his life twitching, mumbling and forgetting as if his nerves were shot. He decided he wasn't going to live like that any more, so on the Hogwarts Express he strode up confidently and said, "Hi, Harry."

Harry greeted him amiably and they found a carriage together.

"How was your summer?" Neville asked, then winced.

"Miserable," Harry replied. "Yours?"

"Fine, I guess," Neville replied. "Did you do anything interesting?"

"No more than usual. You?"

"Not really."

Neville sat down and Harry sat next to him, Ginny and Luna opposite. Neville stroked his Mimbulus Mimbletonia absent mindedly and it crooned happily for him.

 

Harry noticed that Ginny and Luna were deep in conversation about something ridiculous so he turned to Neville and said, "Um, Neville?"

Neville looked up, eyes wide.

"You know that present you sent me?"

"Did you like it?" Neville asked eagerly.

"I do, but it seems kind of expensive," Harry said.

Neville blushed and lowered his eyes.

"And you've never sent me one before, so," Harry continued.

"I just though it would be a nice time to start," Neville interrupted.

"Oh," Harry said. "Thank you."

Harry noticed Neville was still patting his plant.

Harry fished in his bag and pulled out a book. It was clearly second hand, from the creases in the spine. "I got you this," he said, proffering the book to Neville.

Neville took it eagerly and looked over it. "Frankenstein, hmm."

"I don't know if it's your taste but I thought you might like it, so..."

"Thank you, Harry," Neville said, happily pocketing the book.

 

They sat next to each other in the great hall during the feast, sharing simple conversation. They left for the Gryffindor dorms early.

Harry had looked kind of tired on the train but in the dimmer light of their dorm room, his face cast in shadows, he looked strong and alive. There was a certain spark in Harry that Neville responded to, making him blush and avert his eyes as they got ready for bed. When Neville was wearing his pyjamas he turned, tentative, and said, "Harry."

Harry managed to say, "yes?" as he pulled his pyjama top over his head.

Neville screwed up all his courage and walked right up to Harry, who looked a little confused.

Neville breathed in deeply.

"Please don't be upset with me," Neville said in a rush, before he placed one hand on Harry's shoulder and kissed him lightly on the lips.

When Neville pulled away Harry's eyes were wide. "Oh," he said.

Neville moved to turn away.

"I'm not upset," Harry said quickly.

Neville turned back.

"You could do that again if you wanted," Harry offered.

And so Neville did. Harry's shoulders were sort of stiff, but his lips were soft and yielding against Neville's. Harry's breath was hot as it skittered over Neville's teeth. Neville slid his tongue cautiously into Harry's mouth and Harry tasted ever so slightly like the roast potatoes he'd had at dinner, only sweeter.

 

Harry was actually smiling as he went to sleep that night.

His dream began with kissing Neville in the lobby of the Ministry of Magic. He put his hands on Neville's chest, only to discover a small round button. When he looked down it read _Neville Longbottom, Snogging Session_. When he looked up he could see Ginny and Luna waltzing wildly around the broken fountain wearing short skirts and fishnet stockings.

That dream bled away into the cold glitter of clocks as they tapped away their rhythm. He looked along the corridor to see, finally, a dim, distant light. As he walked ever on toward it, he felt he was coming closer to the end. One clock on the wall beside him seemed to have stopped.

His scar, and everything else, ached.


End file.
